


tarantism

by grandstander



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandstander/pseuds/grandstander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarantism: The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.<br/>prompt from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tarantism

Melancholy is a relatively pretty word for a emotion that drowns you from the inside out, one that rises in your chest each time you breath, ‘til a sea of pain is swirling in your mind. It’s deep and dark, something that takes Blake at ease and in regularity, her thoughts being a place she most commonly resides herself. 

Yang’s seen the way such a sea of memory and worry slowly comes in, like a tide washing over the beach, pulling until the haze of soft blues become an endless, sinking and bottomless ocean of loneliness. It’s in the way the gold of her eyes is buried under a gloss, pupils wide and empty seeming while soft tanned fingers brush from her cheek to into the endless rolls of ebony that rest among her shoulders. These sorts of feelings are hard to overcome; they’re muted, and turn your bones to stone until there’s a hand grasping through the ocean-surface, sunbeams dripping from the outstretched fingers and melting into the black, blue coming to life and the sun breaking through in a smile of white, eyes of lavender behind it. 

“Blake,” 

These feelings seep from her in the way Yang says her name, soft and gently like a morning sunrise whispering hello to the birds and with a cloud of soft fog rolling over the ocean’s edge. The blonde haired girl is smiling at her, lavender pools looking as if they’d been inkdropped from a sunset. A woman crafted of passion and fury, hair like the sun and filled to the brim with the same planet’s fire— her fire is wild and vicious, one that burns around a kingdom and swallows whatever steps over it. 

Her fire, now, though, is soft in her eyes and in the light smile when her warm hands slip into the waves of black, hand resting over the one Blake had pressed against the corner of her jaw. Fingers press into the grove of her own, Yang pulling her, just like the golden hand in her heart that pulled her from black seas of mind and pain, pulling her and she can feel the water kissed by the sun washing over her skin when Yang pulls her to her feet. 

The motion is followed gently with a step that pulls them in a semi-circle, one that breaks Blake through the surface and the sun is on the horizon, engulfing her in gentle rays of orange and yellow when their hands come to meet palm to palm, Yang’s arm falling behind her waist. 

Their rhythm is none, steps moving and the more they move the more there’s laughter rising between them, ripples of love meeting in the air around them and they’re smiling, laughing and Yang steps on her toes a third time and she smiles sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders as they turn in semi-circles and full ones, parting and leaning from one another with palms melded together. 

Blake’s not sure if she knows what melancholy means anymore.


End file.
